


Dean Fucks People

by viscouslover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Explicit Language, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Insults, Light Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Misgendering, POV Dean Winchester, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Humor, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscouslover/pseuds/viscouslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean fucks people. Human people. Women, specifically. Specifically, people who are human that are women. Yup, Dean does the fucking to women who are both people and humans, and that is <i>it</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Fucks People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duckyboos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/gifts).



Dean wants to get fucked.

Scratch that. Dean wants to fuck. Dean fucks people, people don’t fuck Dean. We’re talking active verb tense here; none of that passive bullshit. OK? Dean's the subject and the person he's going to fuck is going to be the object.

 _No_ , Dean doesn't think the people that he fucks are objects. _Dean fucks people_.

Yes, better. Dean fucks people. Human people. Women, specifically. Specifically, people who are human that are women. Yup, Dean does the fucking to women who are both people and humans, and that is _it_.

Not objects. Not non-humans. Not dudes. Definitely not dudes who aren't human women people.

Anyway, Dean wants to fuck. Dean needs to fuck. Dean's been cooped up in this fucking bunker for too fucking long. He needs to bust out of his coop. He needs to spread his wings. He needs to fly.

Not to say that Dean is a bird. Or that he's even thinking of birds. Or wings. Or flying at all, for that matter. Dean is definitely not thinking about anything that has wings and that flies away.

Nope. Dean is thinking about sex. Sex with human women. Sex with human women who are not dudes and don't have wings and can't fly away. Sex where Dean is active and not passive. Sex that Dean would like some of right now because he's been _not_ fucking in the _not_ -fucking bunker for too _not_ -fucking long.

So, yeah. That's what Dean needs. He needs to screw his head on right, man up, and get laid. Be laid. Do the laying? Dean's gonna have sex.

Dean's gonna get off his bed, leave the bunker, hop in the Impala, head to a bar, pick up the most available chick in the place, and climb right back on that saddle. Ride 'em cowboy! Right?

Wait, no. _No_. Dean will not be _riding_ anything tonight. Dean's gonna be the one calling the shots at this rodeo, thank you very much, and _goddamit_ , Dean, where the fuck are all these cowboy metaphors suddenly coming from?

OK. Deep breath. Dean is gonna hitch up his britches (dammit), find himself a nice lil' lady (come on), and settle down for the evenin'. (What the fuck is wrong with him?)

Dean pushes himself up off his memory foam and gives himself the giant mental high-five that he definitely deserves for not even taking his boots off when he originally laid down, three hours ago. That's gonna save himself a lot a time making his break.

Dean leaves his room and starts tossing his keys back and forth between his hands, making his way towards the library and its spiral stairway to hea- Freedom. Stairway to freedom.

Dean's watching the keys travel to the crest of their arcing parabola (What? He reads.) when he runs into Sam at the entrance to the library.

That's a polite way of putting it. A more accurate way would be to say that all six foot forty of his giant fucking nosy ass bitch of a brother plants his nosy fucking bitch ass face right in Dean's goddam way.

"What can I do for you, Sammy?" Dean smiles like a fucking mega watt bulb. "Need me to pick up some chocolate and tampons while I'm out?"

Sam crosses his arms across his stupid beefy chest like he's actually capable of intimidating anyone and scowls in that particularly dumb way that looks just like a pout and totally never works on Dean.

"Dean," Sam bitches.

"I mean, I've noticed you being a bit sensitive the last couple days," because Dean's always been observant like that. "So, I figured it must be that time of the month."

"Dean, don't do this." Just in case Dean didn't already know that the Party Pooping Police were in town, Sam pulls out his fake Fed Voice of Authority.

"What? Would you prefer a pint of Chunky Monkey and a DVD copy of _Beaches_?" Dean is fucking hilarious and Sam can suck it. But, not like that; they're brothers. Gross.

"Wow, I'm a girl. Hilarious."

Dean smirks because he totally knew it.

Sam dials up the pout to eleven, "Using femininity as an insult already, Dean? Cas has only been gone four days."

"Five," Dean corrects.

Sam is obviously a big dumb moron and not the brainiac they all thought he was. He can't even count properly.

"Ok, five days." The big dumb moron probably pulls a muscle rolling his eyes. "And let me guess, you're off to the bar?"

"Not just a pretty face, after all."

"You're going to the bar, even though we have a cellar full of, minimum, half-century aged whiskey?"

"Yeah, so? Maybe I'm thirsty for something else tonight." Dean's had enough of this bullshit inquisition and moves to get past Sam. The gigantor just turns to walk beside him.

"Uh huh. And what's that Dean? You've barely left the bunker for weeks. I'm pretty sure that last time you saw fresh air was for that one-day salt and burn we took care of back in March. You're practically a hermit.”

Dean is a gracious brother with infinite patience and decides not to pull a gun on Sam.

"Get to the point, Samantha."

"You've been happily nesting for months now. Can you possibly think of anything that's maybe missing from the bunker that would suddenly have you flying the coop?"

Apparently everyone around here is obsessed with bird metaphors. Maybe it's infectious. Maybe it's avian flu. Ha. Dean awards himself fifty points to Gryffindor for making awesome fucking jokes.

Why the hell is Sam still looking at him like he hit another dog? Right, he wants to know why Dean's heading to the bar. Dean should tell him the truth. The thing about the wanting to have the sex with the human lady women people. He'll just open his mouth and tell Sammy the truth.

"Vodka."

Or lies. Dean should just tell some more lies.

"Vodka?"

"Yeah man, I wanted to switch it up tonight and all those crusty Men of Letters ever stockpiled was whiskey and wine. And since I'm not in the mood for that," Dean gestures to the stairs with a flourish because he is so done explaining himself.

Dean's finally made it to the bottom rung of the staircase and can sense that Sam's about to concede victory. He puts his hand on the railing and lifts his right foot up to the first step. Just as boot’s about to meet tread, the ominous sound of wings flapping fills the room.

Shit.

"Hello, Dean. Sam."

Cas is back.

Perfect fucking timing. Sam's probably gonna recruit him to be the Oprah to his Dr. Phil for this soul-searching feels talk.

As if there's something suspicious about wanting to go out and have some vodka and ladies. Dean’s done that before. Probably. Dean doesn't have some big secret hidden motive for wanting to get out of the bunker. It’s not a crime to want women and booze.

He can already feel matching sets of doe-eyes boring into the back of his skull. Fuck. Sam probably telepathically prayed their whole fucking conversation to Cas and told him to be extra-fucking sensitive. Is that mind-prayer thing even possible? Dean is gonna throw up.

"Oh, hey Cas. Welcome home." Sam uses his smuggest, most asshole-ish voice and pretends like he's surprised Cas is back. What a dick. "Dean was just about to head to the bar to get some vodka."

"I see. Is there no more whiskey left in the bunker?" Cas hops right into the conversation like he isn't interrupting a moment or anything because sometimes he's a thoughtless prick who only gives a shit about himself. "I could go to the store and purchase more whiskey for you, Dean. I have money."

Now he's rubbing in how self-sufficient he is. Perfect.

"Although, perhaps not enough money. I must have underestimated the rate at which you are capable of consuming large quantities of alcohol. I thought that the cellar was amply stocked when I last left. But, I would be happy to go and get more for you."

Of course, there it is. Cas is just dying to leave again, even if it's just a booze run. Apparently, he’s back for twenty fucking seconds now and it's already too much time spent with the Winchesters.

"Why, gee, Cas," Sam pitches his voice higher, because he thinks he's being funny. Sam sounds like a fucking idiot when he thinks he's being funny. "I think that's a really nice offer. But Dean's thirsty for something _else_ tonight. Aren't you, Dean?"

Dean's not sure why Sam was such a bad actor in that douchebag parallel universe. He's clearly a fucking prize-winning comedian in this one.

"That's right." Dean tries not to crack his jaw in half from clenching as he turns around to face Frank and Joe. Apparently, the Hardy Boys are here to solve the Mystery of Dean's Fucking Personal Business. "Either of you have a problem with that?"

Dean finishes turning around and gets his first real eyeful of Cas.

Cas had said he was leaving to finalize peace talks with the last factions of rogue angels. That it was a dangerous mission. That Dean couldn't come with him because the meeting was being held in an ethereal plane. That the combined energy of dozens of building-sized wavelengths of celestial intent in a focused space would be overwhelming.

Cas is obviously a fucking liar, because he looks fucking fine.

Sure, Cas' hair has that permanent wind-tunnel look again. And he probably didn't shave while his was incorporeal, since the peach fuzz is looking a little more Purgatory-chic than shower fresh. But, Dean can't exactly see the evidence of all that unchecked awesome power that Mr. Castiel, Angel of the freakin' Lord, swears is too dangerous for delicate little Dean.

Dean thinks Cas is really just taking any excuse for a vacation away from this dump.

No response from Sam or Cas. Just matching searching looks. Dean’s not sure when Sam and Cas body-swapped with a puppy and a kitten, whose parents just got run over, but he swears he said no pets in the bunker.

"C'mon, Cas, you know better than anyone how stifling this place can be." Dean figures he can get out of here faster if he changes tactic and tries to appeal to reason.

The empathy twins aren't breaking off the sympathetic gazes; they’re obviously stuck in guidance counsellor mode today.

"Dean," Cas manages to sound pretty young for a millennials-old being. "You know much of the time I'd rather be here."

"Yeah, and the rest of the time you wanna be anywhere but."

Dean is not falling for this shit again. Last time Cas trotted out a line like this, he had been butt-buddies with Crowley. Metaphorically speaking.

Dean knows from personal experience that only stupid asshole liars hop in bed with the King of Hell. Metaphorically speaking.

You know what? Dean's done with this shit. He was having an awesome fucking day and had a genius-level plan to have some mind-blowing sex with what was probably going to be a very hot chick. He doesn't need Detectives Bitchface and Squinty Eyes giving him the third degree in his own fucking home.

"Alright, I'm outta here. You ladies enjoy a nice evening of bitch n' stitch while the man of the house goes out on the town."

"I give up," Sam throws his hands in the air. "I was locked in Lucifer's Cage and it was less torture than putting up with your macho bullshit. When you need me, I'll be in the stacks."

Sam storms out because he's a big pissy crybaby who's jealous that he wasn't invited out. So what if Dean's macho? It's not his fault that he's rugged and manly while Sam has a penchant for Farrah Fawcett hair and organic produce.

And then there were two.

Cas looks like he might wanna speak again, but Dean spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time before he gets a word out.

 

\----

 

The bar was a stupid fucking idea.

Turns out, every Tuesday is students-n-seniors' discount day at this particular establishment. Everyone in here is either dangerously young or dangerously old. When a former Knight of Hell thinks something is dangerous, it's time to hightail it out of there.

Dean has no idea when college girls officially become Too Young, but he's pretty sure that he once had a two-day old daughter who looked older than these chicks.

Great. Now he remembers why he's not supposed to pick up strangers in bars any more.

Dean's on his way back outside to the Impala before he manages to order the drink he never really wanted.

 

\----

 

Cas is sitting in an armchair at the base of the staircase, head hunched over some voluminous tome that appears to be in Enochian. Probably titled _Complicated Angel Shit That Dean Will Never Understand_.

Dean doesn't remember seeing this particular chair in the bunker before. Cas probably mojoed it here. The dork should've saved the juice. Dean would buy Cas a chair if he just asked. Dean would probably do a lot of things these days if Cas just asked. But, Cas doesn't ask.

The chair is completely blocking Dean's path.

"Cas, buddy, kinda hard to get by here."

Cas slowly raises his head and Dean can't understand how a kitten with a perpetual squint can suddenly look so owlish. Must be an angel thing. Something to do with their true forms and all those animal faces.

"Oh. You're back." Cas sounds surprised.

That pisses Dean off. This is his fucking house. His fucking home. He's allowed to come and go as he pleases. It shouldn't be a fucking surprise.

"Newsflash for ya, Cas, this is where I live."

"Of course it is." Cas acts like Dean is the one saying stupid shit. "Have you already completed your intercourse?"

Dean needs a minute to reboot his brain.

"Uh, not sure what you're talking about, man." Dean knows he's having a hard time remembering his lies lately, but Cas was told the vodka one, right?

"You said you were going to the bar for vodka. You don't drink vodka, Dean."

Dean always wondered if Cas could read his fucking mind. Just another hidden angel trick that Cas doesn't really tell Dean about because he doesn't really trust him. It would explain a lot.

Cas huffs a sigh and continues on, "I assumed that you were lying to your brother and I about your true intentions. There are only so many things to do at a bar that you can't do here, Dean. The whiskey in the cellar is your favourite, the fridge is stocked with your beer of choice, and the games room has a regulation billiards table."

"Maybe I wanted to play darts."

"Maybe. But I don't think so. I think you were hoping to have sex tonight."

Dean is an idiot. Dean thinks he can tell his lies and get away with them. Dean never fucking learns.

Maybe this is what always happens when someone saves you over and over again. Someone dies for you one or three times and they start being able to tell your lies from the truth. Maybe there’s no such thing as angel mind-reading, after all.

"Look, Cas, I don't know what you want here. But, obviously my night didn't go as planned and now I'm really fucking tired. So, if you don't mind zapping the Iron Throne here off to the side, I need my four hours."

Dean actually hears Cas' eyes roll. He must be taking lessons from Professor Moose down in the stacks.

"Dean, I am a millennials-old being. I have witnessed the birth and death of entire galaxies. I have watched this very planet begin it's existence. From the first spark of life, over countless millions of generations, I have seen your species evolve to its present state. I have watched mountains erode and empires fall during a single respite.

"And yet, you still manage to make our every conversation try my patience."

Wow. Apparently, Professor Moose has also been teaching Advanced Sass. Dean wonders if Eye Roll 101 was a prerequisite, or if it’s offered concurrently.

"Are you behaving this way because I was gone for the past five days?"

Dammit. Dean’s mind-reading theory is officially back on the table.

Dean really does need that drink now. He runs a hand over his eyes and down his face, pulling at his lips as he thinks about what to say.

"Cas, buddy, can I least get in the room before we talk about this?"

Cas pushes his chair out of the way using old-fashioned kinetic force. Dean always wonders how angels decide when to be all-powerful telekinetic super-beings and when to slum it like the rest of the mortal, corporeal suckers.

 

\----

 

Dean sits on the edge of his bed with a bottle of beer slowly rolling between his hands. Cas is sitting in a wooden chair across from him. Dean never noticed before how little space is in this room. Dean would guess there’s less than a foot between his knees and Cas’ knees. For some reason, Dean can’t take his eyes off the gap.

Cas hasn't said a word since they left the library.

“OK man, if you’re waiting for permission, this is it. Lay it on me.”

“Dean, I am a being that has existed for time unfathomable.”

“Yeah, Cas, and my species’ entire existence is nothing to you. I know. You just explained that one, thanks.”

Cas sighs loudly, leans his head back, and stares at the ceiling. Dean wonders if Sam taught him that, too. Maybe he learned that one from Dean.

Cas closes his eyes and speaks again, “You misunderstand me, Dean. Your existence isn't meaningless to me. Quite the opposite. Prior to meeting you, I had existed through time and space on a scale that you cannot conceive, let alone comprehend. This isn't a slight against you, simply a truth.”

Dean still thinks it sounds like a dig. Whatever.

“The first time that I died, Dean, do you understand how monumental that was? It was the first time I really understood mortality. Dying inside this human body- .”  Cas trails off; lowers his head and re-opens his eyes.

Cas stares directly at Dean. Dean can’t help but stare back.

“When I was brought back, I started to understand time from the human perspective. I began to live with a fear of death. The fear that one day, I would expire and no longer be able to spend time with the things that I treasure. Even more than that, I began to fear that I wouldn't, and that I’d be fated to watch all the people I would ever love die and pass on to Heaven, where I was no longer welcome.

“Can you imagine that fear of loss, Dean? The things that it might bring a man to do?”  Cas chuckles mirthlessly, “Of course you do. It’s why we met in the first place.”

Dean’s not sure if he’s actually supposed to be saying anything here, so he just takes a swig of his beer. It’s gone warm.

“Then again, I suppose I'm not really a man. Not in your eyes. Or God’s. If He’s even watching any more. But, I'm not an angel either, am I? I've faced mortality. I fear mortality. So what am I now, if I'm neither angel nor man? Where do I belong?

“I think about this often. I used to think that I could somehow exist in both places. Have my pie and eat it too.” Dean laughs a little, but Cas continues, “I'm not sure how many more times I will die before I learn that it’s simply not possible.”

“Cas. Man, c’mon,” Dean can’t listen to this any more. He tries to lighten the mood, “We've all died a few times by now.”

“I know this, Dean. That’s why I inquired about your behavior this evening.”

Dean thinks he missed an exit, because he has no idea where this conversation is heading any more.

“Sorry, Cas. You’re gonna need to shine a light bulb on this one for me. How exactly does my personal life affect your existential crisis?”

“Dean, I care for you deeply, but you are an assbutt.”

Come again? Care for _who_ deeply?

Wait – _assbutt_?

Dean’s face must look as fucked up as Dean feels, because Cas actually busts out that special toothy grin where you see all his upper gums. Clearly, Dean is a source of great amusement in Cas’ life. Cas is a jerkwad. Ugh, and his lame insults are contagious.

Cas' smile falls and he starts to wring his hands before he speaks, “When I contemplate my mortality, Dean, being without you is the thing that I fear most.”

Dean’s brain doesn't just shut down this time; it spontaneously combusts and is engulfed in flames. How else could Dean explain the fiery blush that’s taken over his entire body?

“The reason I left to finalize the peace talks with the rogue angels was so that I could conclude my obligations with Heaven. I didn't want to leave here, but I needed that business to be over. Now that I finally realize that our time is finite and precious, I no longer want to be apart from you."

When Cas looks at Dean, his eyes are soft and wet. "I'm tired of dying alone, Dean.”  

Dean doesn't know what to do. He can’t speak. His brain already melted. He should do something. Show Cas that he’s tired of dying alone, too.

Cas is still talking, “I had been so happy with you here in the bunker for these past few months. I thought that you had felt the same way. When I returned this evening, you seemed so desperate to leave. I thought that perhaps my absence had reminded you how much you preferred your freedom.”

He’s wrong. Dean needs to show Cas that he’s wrong.

Dean stares at the stupid gap between their dumb knees and decides that he’s fucking done with this shit. Cas is right, their time is finite and precious and they should no longer be apart. Or whatever.

He reaches out across the gap and puts his hands on Cas’ Purgatory-soft beard, stroking his left thumb across Cas’ beautiful fucking cheekbone. Goddamit, he’s ready to do this, because Cas cares for Dean _deeply_.

Suddenly, words come back to him, “Cas, I don’t wanna leave. Don’t want you to leave, either. Always wanted you to stay. You know that, right? Just never thought I was allowed to ask.”

Cas looks surprised, and Dean realizes he’s in love with a moron.

Holy shit.

 

\----

 

Dean loves to fuck.

Scratch that, Dean loves to be fucked.

Wait, is that passive or active? Not like Dean hasn't been both today.

You know what? Start over. Dean doesn't care who does what to whom. He just cares that he’s doing it with Cas.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for my beloved webnet biffle, [Duckyboos](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos). I can't type 'fucking' this often without thinking of you.
> 
> Beta'd by my beloved real life biffle, [Beka](http://agirlfromottawa.tumblr.com/). I can't write Dean and Cas without thinking of you.
> 
> I can be found at [viscouslover.tumblr.com](http://www.viscouslover.tumblr.com)


End file.
